


Bath

by Land_Locked_Martian



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Land_Locked_Martian/pseuds/Land_Locked_Martian
Summary: Agent Fowler locates something large enough for a cybertronian bath. Optimus is long overdue for any kind of action
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	Bath

Agent Fowler, upon request, donated an old weapons container to the Autobot cause. Bulkhead, who had requested simply a solid, semi-oval (or, as was received, rectangular) basin, spent a week tweaking the base’s heating and installing pipes, and now, lo and behold, the autobot cause had a singular bathtub. (Bulkhead had also made a duck out of scrap metal. It promptly sunk and fell apart against the drain, prompting an extra day of cleanup.) 

Optimus Prime watched the tub in tepridation. The base’s pavement was sloped in the makeshift wash-racks room, and the tub’s furthest side was above it’s nearest, but the faucet was on the higher side, so one would tend to place one’s head on the lower side, which felt a little disturbing, and honestly, it’s not like Optimus missed baths. He didn’t. He just couldn’t...you know… do anything in the base’s wash-racks, because they had no wall to lean on and the floor was hard. And in the bath he would be, you know, under water, which is a better sound barrier than the annoyingly thin walls in the Autobot base. And yeah, he could go back to his room, and forget the bath, sit with his books and his pillow and the vibrator under it he can’t even use…

He turns the water on. It comes out in uneven, cold spurts, and runs to the lower side of the tub. Optimus sighs. It takes about twenty minutes to fill the bathtub, ten for the heater to start. It’s a massive, ugly thing, the tub, big enough for two Primes and eight Arcees. Optimus is still a little afraid it’ll collapse before even one Prime makes it in. He places a hand on the side closest to him and pushes down. The tub is, surprisingly, sturdy, bless Bulkhead’s engineering. Equally surprising, though far more upsettingly, the edges are sharp. Energon drips from his hand. Optimus licks the wound and starts to plan logistics.

1st: (bumped up the list due to recent, painful events), finding a suitable place on the tub to position himself near. The side farthest from him and the door, it turns out, is thicker, and where others have been keeping soaps. Acceptable, though the width of the tub might make things a bit cramped. 

2nd: debris. Optimus isn’t risking the duck’s remains anywhere near his protoform. The bottom of the tub is only lightly submerged. Optimus runs a cloth through it, and around the sides. Then, because he has a lot of time, he flicks the drain up for a second and gets the pieces underneath. 

3rd: A subject.Who or what Optimus thinks about when he does this is something he has to decide on beforehand, or he gets himself into trouble. By trouble, he means weird thoughts about Decepticons on the battlefield, and by Decepticons he means Megatron and one, uncomfortable time Starscream. Decepticon High Command has a median attractiveness level that is, frankly, very high, and there isn’t an Autobot that isn’t off limits because of family reasons, and really that would just be more awkward, wouldn’t it? Optimus spends a minute or so trying to remember the characters in pre-war holos and fails, and then he decides to simply think of nothing. 

It takes a good ten minutes more for the tub to fill an adequate amount, and thankfully by then the water/solvent mix is decently warm. Optimus braces a hand on a pipe and attempts to gently scale the obscenely large bathtub walls (up to his chest plates, how does Arcee even get in?). He fails, in that he gets over, but in a crash that sends waves splashing to the floor. He’s a little glad the floor is so heavily sloped to a drain now. He sits, and the water/solvent is over his finials. Optimus has no idea where Agent Fowler located such a massive box. It’s more than a little ridiculous. 

He spends a moment just listening. Underwater, it’s the quietest the base has been in years. Optimus thinks maybe he should spend more time here, meditating. He braces his pedes on the wall and slides then outward. But not today.

He slides his panel open and sinks onto a finger. It’s too easy. It’s boring. Another finger. He steadfastly thinks of a blank void of a person, or maybe the concept of femmes who could throw him into the sun one-handed, which he thinks is definitely sexy enough to help out in this situation. He’s rocking into his fingers now, he can feel himself clamp down again and again. He flicks the vibrator on and grinds it against his valve. He bucks into the touch. He presses harder and the pleasure becomes white-hot. Painful in a good way, like a wrestling match that gets a little too close. It’s good, and he keeps going, and going. A third finger and he’s sinking down and folding and thinking of nothing until he’s thinking about why his charge isn’t increasing. 

He stops and shifts the vibrator to his node. It’s better, like sparks, and he can feel his charge tick higher. He keeps thrusting with his fingers, twisting and scissoring and bending. He gets harsher, until he’s screaming underwater, harder and harder and... 

And And And it’s not working.

Optimus removes the fingers from his valve, crosses his arms, and throws his head back against the side like a petulant sparkling. Thinking of nothing wasn’t going to do it, but he’s crawling with charge now and he’s determined to make filling up this bathtub worth something. Optimus Prime gives in.

He closes his eyes and Megatron is behind him. Chest to back, strong arms around his waist, hands dancing on his thighs, and whispering against a finial. Megatron pulls, and Optimus spreads his legs wider, and there’s a digit in his valve, pumping, and maybe someone is licking up his final and it’s good. Almost worth it when he freezes in battle tomorrow. Two digits, and the scissor. Optimus is remixing memories now, speeches Megatron read to him on Kaoni nights and battlefield threats turned into sweet nothings and hard commands.

“Come on, Prime-tell me-what is it you-desire.” Optimus pushes up against the bottom of the tub, pushing his head above water and using an arm to brace himself on the thicker wall. His cooling system gasps for the air. He has the vibrator pressed to his node with his thumb and his fingers crooked just right. 

“How does it feel?-so weak-so-ready.” Optimus hasn’t felt like this since the battle of Polyhex, against a wall and surrounded in burning rubble. Primus, he was yearning for a war big enough he could sneak away from the battlefield, fall behind a perfectly placed broken building.

“Prime,-why so-caught up-in the past-hmm-the present is-so much more fun.” Primus, Optimus missed the way Megatronous used to speak to him. The gladiator made the hardened language of Pit Kaoni lecherous. He presses harder and feels his thighs shake. It’s so much, the touch, the voice, he kicks against the wall and involuntarily bucks 1, 2, 3, water splashes over the side in rhythm.

“My little archivist, I love you.” And he overloads.

This is the trouble, he thinks as he stands on shaky legs. This is the problem, this is why the war has dragged on so long. He’s hardwired for guilt. It’s his companion for the aftercare, as he wipes himself down and pulls the plug. He knows lust isn’t the real issue, deep down, but it’s an easy scapegoat. It’s easy to accept blame for something you are ashamed of, it’s a lot harder when it’s something you can’t bring yourself to regret. And that’s the crux of the matter, that tomorrow or the next, when the warning sirens scream, and he meets Megatron on the battlefield, lust won’t be what holds him back, it’ll be the speeches he reads in the bath.


End file.
